Maybe that’ll help me feel better…just eating.
Like…until I’m fat.
Or another nap.
Or more job applications.
Or another nap.
Or more food.
It still follows me…
This is the longest bout of it I’ve had to deal with ever in my life…
I’m just not happy here.
I’m getting sick of me not being able to take care of you.
I’m getting sick of staring you in the face, knowing that I fucking fail.
I’m getting sick of you thinking that I somehow don’t want you anymore or whatever the situation is.
I’m sick of not being able to take care of my own damn self.
But not you.
And yea, I read it. Fucking talk to me when shit like that pops up. Or something.
Instead of hiding it and being sneaky (you need to learn to log out of your shit when you’re done…otherwise…yea…). I have no reason to want to get rid of you. I fucking love you. Can we just leave it at that?
I’m depressed, I’m sad, I relocated, I’m stressed, I’m angry….I’m a lot of things right now. The universe and I are out of synch.
But I’m not fucking tired of you. I fucking left my family to be with yours for fuck’s sake. I uprooted everything to start fresh…with you. You being irrational about how you think I feel about you isn’t helping me…it’s adding to the strain. Fucking stop it. Seriously. It’s been about a year and some change for a damn reason. If I didn’t want it to be, I’d tell you. You know this. You’re killing me here.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I can’t feed us, I can’t keep a roof over our heads, I can’t buy us the things we want, or need…
I failed. Myself and you.
And I’m sorry. You should find somebody who has the means…because I don’t.
I fucking suck.
Wake me up when you’re awake. Please.
I seriously don’t sleep comfortably if you’re up, so it’s not helping me to keep me asleep. Wake me up. Stop saying it’s because I’m asleep. Stop telling me I need more rest. I’m more used to long hours than you think, so fucking let me be awake with you.